The Jackal Howls at Midnight
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: Raoul lives for his family. So when an ancient force aims to take away everything he holds dear, he vows to stand against it to protect his family. But there is so much more at stake. Even the Phantom has his own troubles. Sequel to "Beneath the Valley."
1. Notes and Letters

Notes and Disclaimers: As this is a sequel to "Beneath the Valley," there will eventually be some cameos and references to that fic, and to another fandom (but, as with "Valley," this won't be a crossover). The Phantom has repented, and is no longer an enemy. The characters aren't mine, except for Giselle, Sybille, Hoularch, and Dr. Vulsor (the idea of Dr. Vulsor's pet project must be credited to LuckyLadybug).

* * *

Raoul de Chagny was hard at work in his study, going over some important papers. Being a viscount wasn't the most rewarding profession at times; it meant long hours of making sure that his shire was running as well as his superiors would have wanted it to. He wouldn't have minded the work so much, had it not been keeping him from spending more time with his wife, Christine, and their two daughters. Oh, he always ensured that he spent time with them, but, in his opinion, he could be spending far more time.

But this time of year was usually the busiest; taxes were due from the people, and it was usually during this time that people wrote to him, asking for extensions so that they could come up with their payments. He had not the heart to refuse them, and there were usually a few cases a year where someone or the other couldn't meet the full amount of the tax, and Raoul would end up paying the difference out of his own pocket. The ones above him in rank, of course, were none the wiser about this; so long as Raoul handed over the required amount of money, they did not ask any questions.

"_I wonder if it's time to insist that the Opera Ghost should pay his taxes_," the viscount mused to himself. He knew that the masked musician still called the cellars of the ruined Opera Populaire as his permanent residence. The building was burned-out and condemned, which made it the perfect haunt for him. "_What would the property taxes be for such a place…?_"

His thoughts were diverted as the study door opened. Christine was quietly ushering in their daughters, Giselle and Sybille.

"Go on," Christine said, in her soft, gentle voice. "Say goodnight to your father, and then it's off to bed for the both of you!"

Raoul put down his work in order to allow himself to embrace one golden-haired daughter in each arm as they began their nightly duet of "Goodnight, Papa!"

"Papa, can you tell us a story tonight?" asked Sybille, the younger of the two girls.

Raoul had not the heart to refuse her anything, so he was glad when Christine told Sybille that she would tell her the story for the night.

"Your father is very busy," Christine explained. "But if you and your sister hurry off to your room, I will tell you the story of an ancient Egyptian king and how he fell in love with a general's daughter."

"And it is a true story," Raoul added, to further add to the intrigue. "But there are few who know the truth of it."

"How did you and Mama come to know about it?" asked Giselle.

Raoul wasn't sure how to reply to this; he had heard the tale first hand from the spirit of the Pharaoh Sethos himself years ago when he, Christine, and the Phantom had gone to Egypt. After solving a perplexing mystery and thwarting a ruthless gang of thieves, Raoul had won the Pharaoh's favor to such an extent that the spirit had gone so far as to proclaim Raoul as his successor, giving him free reign to take whatever ancient treasures he wished.

Raoul had refused to take anything, of course. After a discussion with the local authorities, he finally brought back a golden statue of Sethos and his queen Túaa, but not for himself—the priceless work of art stood proudly in the Louvre. He and Christine had taken Giselle and Sybille to see it several times. Too young to appreciate its worth, the girls would patiently wait as their parents would spend several minutes gazing upon the statue, remembering what had befallen them in Egypt.

They nearly hadn't made it through the adventure at all; at one point, the Phantom had been thought lost to them. He had pulled through, of course, and had returned to Paris with them. But ever since their return, the Phantom had made himself scarce, especially after Sybille had been born. Perhaps he still though of Raoul as a rival, and was humbly deciding to stay out of his way. Perhaps he didn't want to frighten Giselle and Sybille with his face (whether masked or unmasked). Or perhaps he had finally learned to enjoy the bliss of solitude.

Whatever the reason, he had only crossed paths with the Chagnys a handful of times over the recent years; most of the time, he kept in touch with his infamous notes, chronicling the stories of his journeys through Europe, and how his music was progressing. The notes were always addressed to Christine, though the Phantom did frequently inquire as to the well-being of the rest of her family. He did not correspond directly with Raoul (nor did Raoul directly correspond with him); Christine served as the messenger for these two former (but still tenacious) rivals.

Raoul sighed slightly as Christine led the children to their room. He was no longer that carefree youth; Raoul was nearing his thirtieth year, and the recent decade hadn't come and gone without him learning important lessons. Among these lessons was learning to fulfill his duties as a viscount; he often wondered what the Pharaoh would think of the way he handled the responsibilities. Also among these lessons was the realization that misadventures were a thing of the past; he had a family to look after, and he was willing to sacrifice anything for their sake. They were his top priority, and perhaps some day in the future, when his daughters were old enough, the opportunities for adventures would return.

But until that day came, he would be content with the way life was now. With Christine by his side, and with their two precious daughters, what more could he possibly want?

"_There __is__ nothing else_," he realized. And he knew that the sooner he dealt with the issue of the taxes, the sooner he could spend time with the family he cherished so much.

He glanced back at the door as Christine returned.

"That was a short story, I must say," the viscount remarked.

"Three minutes in, and they had both fallen asleep," the singer replied, with an amused shake of her head. "You're the better storyteller, Raoul; they would have stayed awake longer if you had been telling it."

"Five minutes, probably," he replied, prompting Christine to laugh. "Just wait for a few more days; this whole tax business will be over then, and we shan't have to bother with it for another year."

"Something tells me, my love, that you would have preferred being out at sea rather than dealing with all of this paperwork," she said, feeling slightly sorry for him. She knew of Raoul's spirit; even as a child, he hated being forced to sit and work on something when he would rather be out on some misadventure elsewhere (usually with her).

"It cannot be helped," he replied, with a good-natured sigh.

Christine smiled and gently brushed some of the strands of blond hair out of her husband's blue eyes.

"There aren't many like you, Raoul," she said to him. "You are so selfless, and you are always quick to aid others. But take care that you do not forget yourself, as well."

Before Raoul could reply, their valet entered the room with a note for Christine and a letter for Raoul.

"Why, it's from Erik!" she observed, glancing at the familiar seal. "I was wondering where he had got to; it has been some time since he has sent any sort of message…"

"Where is he now?" Raoul asked, somewhat half-heartedly.

"He says he is very near Paris; he should be on the train by the time we receive this," she said, after reading the letter. "I expect he's coming back for a few days before leaving again… He says that his latest composition has earned him a bit of money; that's nice for him…"

"I suppose he signed it 'O.G.' as usual…" predicted Raoul.

"Yes, he did," she admitted. "But never mind. Who sent the other letter?"

Raoul glanced at the envelope.

"It's from Mademoiselle Ishtar in Luxor," he said, surprised to be hearing from the young Egyptian lady after all of these years.

"Neferma'at?" asked Christine, remembering her friend as well. "What does she say? Oh, she has written the letter in hieroglyphs! …But why?"

Raoul hadn't come away from Egypt without learning how to read the ancient script.

"There might be trouble," the viscount said, after reading the note. "There's been some sort of robbery; listen to this: 'My dear friend, forgive me for being out of touch all these years. My family is fine, and I pray that yours is, too. However, there is a serious reason as to why I am writing to you, and I must write in the ancient script, lest this letter falls into the wrong hands. There is a cursed ancient village not too far from here called Kul Elna, which was abandoned three thousand years ago. No one ever goes to this site, in spite of whatever artifacts may rest there, for a very dark aura repels all who go near. That is why it concerns me that someone has made his or her way into the village site. We do not know who it was, but we were astounded to see, in a foreign newspaper, a picture of an artifact that must have been taken from the village. Alas, it seems to be in the possession of a world-famous opera singer (I have enclosed the picture from the paper, for you to see); I am doubtful that she stole it, but whoever the thief was, he or she must have given it to her. There have been many new and unfamiliar faces in Luxor as of late; the thief could be any one of them, simply using the diva to take the artifact to elsewhere. This concerns me, because if the dark auras of Kul Elna are taken somewhere else, it could bring about a terrible calamity. I felt it my duty to alert you to these goings-on, as the spirit of Pharaoh Sethos has declared you to be his successor. I will keep you updated, if possible. Please convey my warmest regards to your family, and to Mr. Erik. Yours sincerely, Neferma'at Ishtar.'"

"Oh, dear…" said Christine. "I hope nothing serious truly happens. Or, if by some chance, they can find whoever took the…" She trailed off at the look on Raoul's face as he glanced at the newspaper clipping. "What is it?"

"_Carlotta_!" the viscount exclaimed, in disbelief.

"What!?"

Christine quickly glanced over her husband's shoulder to glance at the clipping. Indeed, it was Carlotta Gudiccelli, the former star of the Opera Populaire. And, around her neck, a strange Egyptian pendant, with the image of the jackal-headed deity Anubis upon it, was clearly visible in the black-and-white photograph.

"This photograph looks familiar," said Christine. "I feel as though I have seen it somewhere before…"

"You have," said Raoul, his eyes narrowed. "Do you remember the article in the _Epoque_ a few weeks back? It was announcing Carlotta's return to Paris, and it had this same picture."

"Yes, that's right," Christine realized, remembering how annoyed she felt upon hearing that Carlotta was coming back. "I'm willing to wager that Neferma'at may have come across a copy of the _Epoque_, and saw this picture! …But, does this mean that Carlotta will be bringing this 'dark aura' here!?"

"I'm afraid it seems likely," said Raoul. "Whoever the thief was, he probably knew that she would be going to Paris, and he wants this pendant to come to Paris with her. And I'm willing to make a wager, too: I'm wagering that the thief wants it to come here, specifically because we are here."

"No!" gasped Christine. "But who do you think would be after us like this? The only enemy we have who could come up with such a thing is that thief-leader, Hoularch… but he was brought to justice, was he not?"

"Apparently, he has escaped," said Raoul, fury evident in his voice as he brought his fist down upon the table. "If that monster comes within a dozen yards of Giselle and Sybille, Heaven stop me from--"

"Raoul, surely there must be something we can do!" she said, before he could finish his oath. "We could take them to my father's old cottage by the seaside, Raoul; we should be safe there."

Raoul stood up, gently placing his hands on Christine's shoulders.

"You take them and go, Christine," he said, softly. "I will join you as soon as I have resolved this tax matter."

"No, Raoul; I dare not leave you if that evil soul is coming!"

"Christine, try to understand…" he replied. "If I lose you three, I lose everything."

"And how will it be for us if we lose you!?"

Raoul searched for a reply, but couldn't find one. Instead, he took Christine into his embrace, as they both tried to reassure each other of the events that were about to unfold.


	2. The Newcomers

Elsewhere in France, as these events were coming to light, the former Phantom of the Opera, Erik, was on a train heading into Paris, unaware of what was unfolding. He was still keeping the mask on the disfigured half of his face even after all these years. He had found that pulling the brim down of his black fedora in a certain way obscured the mask in the hat's shadow, a trick that he utilized for ventures into the public eye such as this. The passengers on the train never gave him a second glances as they entered and exited the train carriage.

He had, when the train had paused at the station before Paris, picked up a copy of the _Epoque_, and had been prepared to begin reading it when he was distracted by two oddly-dressed women boarding the train and selecting to sit a few seats behind him. One, who was dressed in red, gave him a glance before deciding to ignore him. The other one, dressed in some odd white coat, didn't even bother to look at him.

Erik pretended to read the paper, while in reality deciding to eavesdrop on these two women—they were not French; he could tell by their accents. The lady in red, he could not place, but the other seemed American, and her next words confirmed his suspicions.

"I assume there's a reason why you wanted me to leave San Francisco so urgently?" she asked. "I was finishing up my experiment, Isabella. I haven't yet had a chance to test it, but your letter--"

"Keep your voice down, Meyrei," said the woman named Isabella. "I have called you here because what we have been searching for all these years—what you were also looking for, I might add, has been found."

"The Egyptian artifacts--?"

"Quiet!" Isabella whispered. "Yes, I heard about it from Kneemoi. She has confirmed that two of them have been found. Of the seven created, four have been destroyed over time. One more remains lost. One of them, the weaker one, seems to have slipped back into the realm of the lost, as well."

"The Scorpion has been lost again?" asked Meyrei. "Never mind. What of the other one?"

Erik was half-expecting (perhaps even half-hoping) that "the other one" to be a Grasshopper, but it was not.

"The Jackal," Isabella said, proudly. "Has been found."

Erik pretended to turn the page. All this talk of Egyptian medallions was reminding him of the events that had happened in Egypt—and of how he almost had not lived through the adventure. He had, by the end of it, looked into the jaws of the mythical monster Ammit and had nearly fallen down a bottomless chasm. And while he was in no hurry to experience either of those events ever again, the conversation of the women was most intriguing.

"But if the Jackal has been found, why are we going to Paris instead of Egypt?" Meyrei asked.

"Because the Jackal is coming here," said Isabella, knowingly. "Kneemoi said she saw my hired help see to it that the Jackal is coming to Paris."

"Why couldn't your hired help have seen to it that the Jackal came to San Francisco…?" Meyrei asked, derisively.

"Because there was a greater chance of things going wrong if we tried to get it that way. Now stop complaining," ordered Isabella. "You'll have your Jackal, old friend. I hope that, at least, shall please you and make up for this inconvenience."

"That it will, Isabella," she said. "Once it is in my hands."

Erik frowned. This sounded like some sort of smuggling case. This Isabella, whoever she was, and her accomplice (and did she say her name was _Kneemoi_…? _Kneemoi_? What kind of name was _that_!?) must be a thief, and was planning to profit from the ancient artifacts as Hoularch had done nearly eight years ago.

The Phantom snorted in derision, still pretending to read the paper. Perhaps he had best stay out of it, he decided. Let them incur the wrath of Ma'at, as he had nearly done.

Pretending to turn the page, his eyes narrowed as he found himself staring at a photograph of Carlotta Gudiccelli, the caption proclaiming her return to Paris.

_Just my fortune_… Erik thought. _I return to Paris the same time she is… Perhaps I can arrange for her to have another frog in her throat…_

He trailed off as he felt something touch his shoulder. He glanced to the side, and froze as he saw a large tarantula crawling across his shoulder. It was quite large, but he was more annoyed by its presence than disturbed.

"Begone," he snarled, moving to strike the creature.

"Stop!" cried a voice behind him.

Erik turned to see Meyrei, the woman in white, frantically waving at him to not hurt the spider.

"I am _so_ sorry…" she said. "She doesn't know any better; she's just a child…"

Erik remained deadpan as she coaxed the tarantula from his shoulder and onto her hand.

"I had to stop you; they don't handle falls very well…" she explained. "She's not even a year old; she's just a little Goliath bird-eater, she meant you no harm… She's very inquisitive; she must have crawled out of my pocket…"

Erik gave a nod of understanding as the woman began to stare at him. He was used to people staring at him, due to his face and mask, but this woman was not staring at him in the way people usually stared at him. She just looked at him with an unnerving interest as she continued to hold the spider.

_Mad_, he silently determined. _She is utterly mad_…

Isabella merely stood aside, rolling her eyes in exasperation as Meyrei returned back to her seat, petting the spider and coaxing it back into the pocket of her white coat, which had the name "Vulsor" stitched on it—her surname, no doubt.

With a frown, Erik used the newspaper to brush off the stray tarantula hairs from his shoulder, wondering what other sorts of vermin the woman had in her pocket. Though the spider might have come in handy as a "gift" to slip into Carlotta's dressing room… He smirked at the thought of the diva's reaction to the tarantula.

"Why did you bring that thing…?" Isabella asked.

Meyrei was about to reply when the train suddenly pulled into the Paris station. Erik sighed, glad to leave these two madwomen behind. But to his annoyance, he recalled that they were going to Paris, too, and, sure enough, they followed him out of the train.

He accidentally brushed shoulders with Isabella. She glared at him for a moment, and he at her, noticing the odd emerald brooch she wore. She glanced at her sleeve, as though checking that none of the stay tarantula hairs found their way to her.

"Miss Sandiego…?" asked a man in a garish plaid suit.

Isabella sharply turned to face the speaker.

"Quiet," she warned the man.

"Oh, hello," the man said, noticing Erik. "Care to buy a pocket watch, Sir?"

Erik stared at the suit the watch salesman was wearing, his expression speaking for him. He suppressed a smirk as he walked away; the fool was undoubtedly dealing in substandard or stolen goods.

Meyrei was departing the train now, probably having been delayed to see that she had let any other arachnids behind. And as Erik glanced at her and then at Isabella and the oddly-dressed man, he took comfort in the thought that there were people in the world far more mad than he had once been suspected to be.

Though it was unsettling, he decided, to realize that the three of them were staring at him as he retreated, glancing ever so casually from the corner of his eye. Isabella and her plaid-suited companion looked away after some time, but Meyrei kept staring until he was out of her sight, just as she had done so on the train.

Egyptian artifacts… thieves… mad spider-loving women… Erik was determined to have no part of it. Especially where this Meyrei was concerned.

* * *

Raoul, of course, had more pressing matters on his mind. He had begun to pace the halls of the manor, trying to think of a way to ensure the safety of his wife and daughters.

"Raoul…" said Christine, finding him pacing at nearly two in the morning. "Raoul, please get some sleep; I fear you shall fall ill if you don't…"

"Even if I tried to sleep, I would not be able to…" he replied, softly. He stared out the window and across the ground, as though wondering if he would be seeing Hoularch there. He did not put it past the thief to use the defenseless children as bargaining chips in whatever plan he was developing—he had, after all, done so with the Ishtar children.

"I am not sleepy, either," said Christine, standing beside him. "I suppose if we knew what villainy he was planning, we could prepare for it. But all we know is that Carlotta is coming here with some odd medallion."

"As much as I am sure that Hourlarch is involved, I am curious as to whether or not he is working alone," Raoul added.

"Do you think there is somebody else?" asked Christine.

"Something tells me there is…" the viscount replied. "Hoularch claimed to be the mastermind of the operation of stealing the treasures of Sethos, but now I have a feeling that there was someone else pulling the strings."

"And that was why it was so easy for them to give the medallion to Carlotta…" realized Christine. "Hoularch would have undoubtedly be kept under a close watch based on his previous crimes, and with his name associated as a thief, not even Carlotta would be quick to trust him, even if she is a little…" She trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Thick-headed…?" Raoul offered, managing a smile.

Christine nodded, smiling back.

"I don't suppose we can meet Carlotta when her train pulls in and convince her to give us the medallion…" Raoul said.

"She would never trust us…" Christine agreed. "But Erik would possibly be able to steal it from her… I normally would not condone him doing such a thing, but in a case like this, it would be deemed a necessity…"

Raoul considered this. Erik did say he was coming here. And although he was unlikely to grant him any favors, he would not be able to refuse such a task when requested by Christine.

"His train should have pulled in by this time," he said. "I expect he might try to contact you tomorrow. You can ask him about it then."

Christine nodded, but then a thought struck her.

"Raoul, why do you not try talking to him, too?" she asked. "You did save his life in Egypt. I think he might feel as though he is in your debt because of that."

"If I have to have a favor of that magnitude repaid by the Opera Ghost, it would be something involving the saving of a life. And I do not wish to put myself in any sort of situation that would require it."

"With Hoularch coming, he is certainly going to try…" she reminded him.

And Raoul had to acknowledge that it was with Erik's help that he had triumphed over the unscrupulous thief.

"We will see what develops," he said. Christine nodded as they headed back upstairs.

"But we mustn't mention anything to the children—not at this time, at least. I do not want them to worry," she said. "They deserve to live without fear."

"And yet they must learn to be careful," Raoul reminded her. "Hoularch will go for them first. But until Carlotta arrives, I see no reason for them to worry needlessly. But remind them that they are not to leave the house alone…"

He gently opened the door to their room, relaxing as he saw his daughters in peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware of the evils of the world.

It seemed so long ago that he and Christine had been that fortunate. It was sometimes difficult to remember such a time…

"If I had known that life was like this…" Christine said, echoing his thoughts. "I would not have wanted to grow up so quickly."

Raoul placed his arm around her, responding with a silent nod.


End file.
